Corruption
by Foo
Summary: "...But the hearts of Men are easily corrupted, and the Ring has a will of its own..." [Warning: Slashy, Note: Incomplete]


Disclaimer:  NO, I am NOT J.R.R Tolkien!  I know the resemblance is uncanny but…  I'm not making any money of this crap, though if I were I'd be a penny richer than I am now! And I'm only gonna put up this disclaimer once, it counts or every chapter.

Author's Note:  I've been REALLY busy lately, but this idea's been playing around in my head for a while.  After viewing the movie for the fourth time, I tried it out.  Yes, I am writing more chapters, I'm on chapter 2 right now, actually, and about half way finished with it.  I will update when I can.  This will be a short fic, only 2-3 chapters long.  

"I see you…" 

Frodo started, shaken from his sleep.  The Eye... it had been there again.   Watching.  Eating away at him bit by bit with its fiery gaze.   The hobbit passed his knuckles over his brow, wiping away the fine sheen of sweat that shone there, his chest heaving frantically.  The Ring, it poisoned him, haunted him, and day by day it burdened him more and more.  

He propped himself up, his small hands grabbing at the nearest thing he could find, a tree root, for leverage.  Frodo had been plagued with the same dream for weeks now.  The great lidless Eye of Sauron ringed in flame, staring straight at him, engulfing him with its cold power.  The poor hobbit shivered at the memory of his nightmare and sat up, leaning against the tree that he had fallen asleep under.  

The day had been long, he remembered that much.  Only recently had they departed from Lothlorien, but Frodo already felt the weight of hundreds of miles, and because Pippin and Merry were complaining of hunger and everyone was tired of rowing their slender, Elven boats, the Fellowship had been forced to stop for the night.  Hobbits were unused to long journeys away from their homes, long hauls without much food or rest. The Ring, which was growing steadily heavier Frodo's neck, was not helping.  

Frodo looked about him, eyes straining in the dim light from the campfire.  Merry and Pippin were curled directly next to the fire pit, the glowing embers casting shadows over their faces.  Pippin was snoring loudly.  Sam was lying near Frodo on his left, and Frodo could hear his heavy, regular breaths.  Aragorn was nowhere in site, but Frodo, by this time, had noticed that he seldom slept and was usually scouting the area when they camped out.  Frodo couldn't see Legolas, but found that Elves didn't sleep much and when they did it was in the trees.  Gimli was sleeping with his back to the moored boats, hands folded across his chest.  Boromir stood watch, a few meters from Gimli, his arms crossed and his keen eyes open and alert.

Frodo's mind traveled back to the Ring.  He had taken off the _mithril_ for the evening, against Aragorn's advice, because he was feeling rather hot and the silvery mail corset along with the soft leather shirt he wore beneath it added to the heat.  Now he was clad in just his worn shirt, and the Ring felt cold against his naked skin.  

Something stirred within him as his mind passed over the Ring.  An odd, fiery heat seemed to spread out from his chest where the Ring rested.  Such was the burning that Frodo choked and desperately grasped at the Ring, unstringing it from its chain.  It was burning hot.  He could hear the voice of Sauron in his mind, whispering, coaxing him to slip it around his finger.  It was so round and smooth and just the right fit and the desire to put it on washed over the Halfling until with a short gasp he slid it on and vanished.

He was immediately back in his dream, color and sound washing about him, distorting what he knew was real.  And the great Eye, sweeping back and forth like a beacon, searching him out, was also there.  Stumbling over roots and what he thought was Merry, Frodo ran from the campsite, and still the Eye seemed to follow.  Suddenly the Eye locked on him.  For a moment it burned brighter, wreathed in fire, it's slitted pupil focused on him.

"I SEE YOU…" it rasped, and Frodo yelped with fear, stumbling back.  His bare foot caught on an especially large root and he fell, landing on the ground with a thud.  The Ring, jarred, flew from his finger and Frodo came into vision again.  

            Frodo lay, panting and smudged with dirt, on the ground until he had caught his breath.  His hair was matted and curled to his forehead and his brow was shiny with sweat.  The Ring… where was the Ring?  He sat up and began to feel around in the dark, palming the ground for the little metal.  Instead his touch came upon something quite solid but not the Ring.  He glanced up and found that his hand had come upon a rather large boot, one belonging to Boromir.  And low and behold, Boromir's foot filled that boot.

            "I don't know what you're up to, out here alone and groping about in the dark, but I advise against it, Master Baggins," Boromir said, helping the hobbit to his feet.  "Are you alright?  I thought I heard you cry out."

            Frodo was silent as he brushed himself off, taking a step back from the man, his eyes still scanning the ground.  Boromir watched him closely.  In fact, Boromir has been watching Frodo quite a bit in the past few days.

            "Have you lost something?  What is it, Frodo?" he asked quietly as the hobbit scoured the ground.  

            "The Ring," said Frodo at last, his voice troubled. "I've lost the Ring.  I can't find it."

            "Oh… fancy that…" Boromir said in an odd voice.  "..Fancy that I found this Ring on the ground, then."  And he unfolded his hand, and there the Ring lay, neatly in his palm.  

            Frodo swallowed and stood, extending his arm uneasily.  Boromir did not seem himself.  Instead of dropping the Ring into the Halfling's outstretched hand, Boromir closed his fingers back around it and smiled.  Frodo panicked and jumped onto Boromir, desperately clawing at his hand until the man released the Ring with a cry.  It dropped to the ground with a surprisingly loud clang, and Frodo dropped to his knees, scooping it up and cradling it to his breast.  Boromir growled and lunged forward, but Frodo was quick and dodged, scooting away.  

            "Frodo… Frodo, my friend…" said Boromir silkily, his voice seemingly strained.  "You know me well!  Why do you cringe when I touch you?  I wish only to borrow the Ring."

            Frodo continued to back up until his back met rock. "Boromir, we've been over this before.  We cannot wield the Ring, none of us can.  Elrond trusted me to—" 

"Don't you _see_?!" Boromir interrupted. "We cannot simply destroy the Ring, it is so much more than that!  Why not use it against the Dark Lord rather than risking lives by bringing it directly to him?"  He again advanced on Frodo.  "If you but lend me the Ring…"

Frodo slowly shook his head, stressed gaze on the man of Gondor, and was silent.  The Ring had obviously taken hold of Boromir and there was nothing he could do.  The Ring burned fiercely in his palm and Frodo tightened his grip on it, clutching it to his chest. Boromir's eyes narrowed and he hurtled forward again, making a swipe for Frodo, who squalled and jumped out of the way.  Boromir caught him by the wrist, however, and brought him crashing down below him.  The Ring leapt from Frodo's small hands, and in the split second Boromir caught it between Frodo's chest and his hand, pinning it with his palm.  Frodo heaved as the strong hand came crashing down onto his torso, pressing the air from his lungs.  

"I have it!" Boromir cried triumphantly, holding the Ring to Frodo with one hand and immobilizing the hobbit by the wrist with the other.  Frodo caught the crazed look in his eyes. "I have it!"

"Strider!!" he shouted in an alarmed voice, and was about to shout out again when Boromir covered his mouth with his hand and his cry was muffled.  Boromir's expression shocked Frodo; it had changed completely, the madness seemingly passed, and he looked extremely sad and worried.  

"Quiet!  Quiet, my friend!  I am sorry, but there is no need to raise the attention of Aragorn.  I knew not what I was doing and I apologize," he said slowly.  Boromir's eyes were frantic and his face had gone pale. Frodo still looked distressed, and Boromir's hand was still flattening the Ring to his chest.  

Suddenly Boromir was thrown off of Frodo and Aragorn stood above them both, brow furrowed. "What's going on here?" he asked, helping Frodo up and recovering the Ring.  "I heard the little one call my name.  Boromir?  What's going on?"

"I am sorry," murmured Boromir, more to Aragorn than to Frodo, before retreating and tromping back through the undergrowth to the camp.  Aragorn waited until Boromir was out of site, then turned back to Frodo, kneeling to match his height.

"Are you alright, Frodo?" His voice was gentle and just his presence soothed the frightened hobbit.  He nodded, then shook his head.  "Where is the Ring?"

"Here." Aragorn pulled Frodo close and slid the Ring into his shirt pocket, smiling comfortingly.  Frodo still looked troubled, but less so.  "I fear what Boromir is becoming.  I think that he is tempted.  And not only by the Ring…" his voice trailed away and he seemed lost in thought for a moment before he grinned wryly at Frodo and patted his shoulder.  "Just call if that villain tries anything again, hm?  And I'll keep a close watch on him."

"Thank you, Strider," said Frodo faintly, feeling the little lump of the Ring through his shirt pocket with his fingers.  Aragorn stood and nodded vaguely, eyes scouting the area, before he turned and headed back in the direction of their camp.  Frodo paused, then followed after him, his hand over his shirt pocket the entire way.


End file.
